Let It Hurt
by Samsquatch67
Summary: The dead are really very much alive. You see them everyday. The dead alive. Sam is one of them. He lost the meaning of 'hope', now all he can feel is an invisible weight. (Depression awareness fic! RIP Robin Williams. Sequel to 'Going Under', i'll try to up-to-date y'all on the first story if someone wants to read this but not Going Under, M for suicidal thoughts)(COMPLETE?)
1. Chapter 1

**I**'**ve been depressed before, so some of this is on my first hand account, you could say. So it's realistic, and there is a big trigger warning for depression and maybe other things to come. But there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. The story will go wherever my muse leads me. if there is anything in perticular you want to see happen, review tell me please!**

**Reviews keep me going in some ways, because then I know people want the story to continue. And it's great inspiration. So that is the point of reviews in my eyes. :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**RIP Robin Williams**

Living in a 'grey zone'. It was like a deep-set, unsettled feeling, like your very soul was uneasy. Like you wanted to cry but you didn't, like you wanted to scream but you didn't have it in you, like he wanted to stand up but you hadn't the energy. And sometimes it came randomly, at least, in your own mind it was random, but it was never indeed random. There always seemed to be some hidden meaning behind it, whether or not you ever found out. But sometimes, the cause of it was blaringly obvious. Sometimes, not so much. It varied.

But one thing was the same: the feeling of being empty and hollow. Always. You read about depression, you hear about it, you see it, and they all look empty in one way or another. It was like you took a breath, you let it out, you swallowed, took a breath, let it out, blinked.

But all you were was dead. The dead are very much among the living, they pass you on the street, they order a coffee in front of you at Starbucks, and they sit in class next too you. They're the dead.

The dead alive.

"You tell Jenny hey for me, okay? Mhm?" Dean, the nineteen-year-old said with a smile and a wink, giving his brother a light and playful shove from where he was in the driver's seat, and where Sam was in the passenger seat.

"Yeah, sure Dean." Sam said, dragging his backpack over his shoulder like it was filled with an anvil before he got out of the Impala without another word.

Dean had been trying to cheer his brother up for weeks, a month now. Ever since they'd gotten out of the hospital that one night, he had been far away, reserved, one could say. It had started with just his simply spoken 'Yes sir's every time John told him to do something. But ever since the… the accident, John had been 'telling' them to do less and less. His speech would randomly move from, "Research this hunt," to, "Hey Dean, ya wanna stay with Sammy to research this hunt?"

And that made it hurt even more. Because Sam, bright eyed, growing like a weed, fifteen-year-old Sam should have been pushing limits to see just how much he could get away with, should have been complaining but then jumping instantly into research like a shark after blood, should have been enthusiastic about school tests and such like the geek that he was.

He had nightmares and whenever he thought no one would hear him, when the shower was turned on, there would be this sound… these sounds… hopeless, and lost, and suspiciously like sobs. Dean was trying. JOHN was trying.

** SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL**

Sam sat down at the desk in History class, staring from under his bangs at the teacher as he jumped into the lesson instantly. He hadn't bothered trying to talk to anyone at that school; John would just want them to move on to the next state. To the next hunt. So what would have been the point in more heartache. If he could feel more heartache.

He hadn't told Dean, but the past week he'd been to that school, he'd get done with school as quickly as he could and wait outside the back entrance that no one use, and would just sit down, and stare at the ugly, rocky sand beneath his sneakers. And in lonely exile, be left to think. Which was the worst thing he could possibly do at that point in his life.

He'd remember every time he had brought up Mary in the past. The words and looks that accompanied it from John and Dean. Those, 'you didn't know her, how could you possibly know anything?' looks. And yes, it was so right, he didn't know her. He wouldn't have even known her smile, her bright, beautiful eyes, that shined even in the pictures… he'd never know that mother. He'd never had a mother sing a night lullaby, read a story, he'd never seem that warm smile and he never would. Never see the love that just shone inside of her bright eyes…

John and Dean both shared in their mourning. They both lost her and they both dealt with it in their own ways, maybe not fully, never fully, but Sam never could grieve. He never got the chance to grieve. Because like John and Dean, he needed to mourn. But he couldn't. He couldn't tell his brother, he couldn't tell John, because he didn't want to see those looks in their eyes. He mourned the mother he never had.

But not only would he never know his mother… but his family, in a way. He didn't know his father. He wished he knew what his father used to be like. When he was happy, and loved his family with his whole being, when he beamed from ear-to-ear so brightly it could put the sun to shame. He missed something he never had. He wished, his soul longed and ached to hear nighttime childhood bedtime stories, to be taught how to play football…

And he wanted Dean to not be burned with taking care of him. He wished… he longed… for so much. And it would always be just out of his reach.

Before things fell apart. Because it was all he remembered. Arguments, yelling, pain, moving all the time… they wondered why moving hit him harder then it did for them, for John and Dean. Because he took anything and everything he could get. He hadn't even had four years of normal.

He wished someone would see, see how much it hurt, see how lost he felt, see the longing and the grieving, reach out to him, pull him out of the chasm of which he had fallen; just see how much it all hurt.

He wanted to breakdown, he wanted to break something, he wanted to be alive. But he was a Winchester. A man. A man couldn't show weakness. They had to troop through, be strong, and a Winchester, a hunter nonetheless, that rule was even more. But he didn't even know what to do anymore. And he just remembered… screaming, and dying over and over again in that… place. That 'hunt'. He remembered feeling hope. Hope that Dean would come, save him, pull him out. But now it was gone. Only the faintest trace of it left. Now that he was out, that he could breathe, that he could feel… he felt even more hopeless and lifeless. And the only faintest trace of hope was still for the same thing as it had been in that hell hole.

And that was when he admitted it to himself.

For the first time in his life, and it didn't make him feel like a weight lifted.

Because he admitted it.

He was afraid of death.

It was like being in a desert for days before turning to drinking your own blood.

Complete desperation.


	2. Chapter 2

IF You want to read Going Under, don't read this, but if you want to SKIP straight into THIS, read this please! LOL Okay, so what happened in the first one:

Spoilers for Going Under:

He was in a coma for three months give or take. what happened was a creature was trying to break his soul so it could have his empty body as a 'host', to possess to be on the Earth. It was from some 'Realm' of creatures. So, Cas helped Dean get there and basically with the help of another guy he got Sam out. The catch was, when the thing tries to break a soul, it takes them to the Realm while their physical body is in a coma and hunts them in the Realm, tortures their soul, then kills them, then starts the process over again. It happened two and a half times to Sam before Dean got him out.


	3. Chapter 3

**THANK YOU _for all the follows and favorites!:D Didn't expect one, muchless that many. Yay! Well, here's the next chapter, and realize the update speed will depend greatly on y'all! :) I can write it pretty fast, this one I wrote after seeing the follows. :D So here you go!_**

Dean was starting to loose his mind. He hadn't realized until then how good things had been a month and a week ago. Sam's best grades were C-'s recently. Their father had moved onto the next hunt a day ago, a new state, and a new school. New Mexico is where they were planted now.

In a motel in Albuquerque. No, a HOTEL. The Brittania & W.E Mauger Estate B&B. And holy cow was it nice… The bed and breakfast had Queen Anne-styel architecture, and rooms with free wifi. Individually styled rooms with yellow color accents, a private bathroom, mini-fridge, coffee maker and cable TV.

The yellow walls were surprisingly… nice. Calm. The room they were in had two queen sized beds, a large painting of a sleeping women covered with a white blanket above one of the beds. There was a large, brown chair with swirl patterns next to a door that led towards a balcony that had two chairs and a small table.

Sam was in an ABQ high school on Odelia Rd. Everything was calm for once. Everyone should have been happy. Both he and John were trying, but it was like Sam had lost sight, he couldn't see it or he didn't care.

Dean was ashamed to admit he was on a thin line now, about to just throw up his arms and scream what Sam wanted from him. He was moody, more so than his usual grumpy teen-ness, and in a different way. Like a bitterness. A hopelessness.

John was about to pick him up for the actual hunt, which was supposed to take until the next day, and truth be told, he was worried about leaving Sam for even that small amount of time, or at least, worried about him being alone for that time… he wouldn't do anything though. Dean hoped that, at least.

"Salt the—" Dean started repeating what he and John had already told Sam several times when the fifteen-year-old looked lethargically up from the book he was reading. "Windows and doors, I got it, Dean!" "Well good for you, hot-shot!" Dean snapped back and angrily hauled his duffel over his shoulder and stormed out of the door, stopping before he closed it and grinding his teeth. "Be careful, Sam."

"You too." Came the weak response. It sounded breakable, like even a soft breeze could blow the words over, like there was no emotion to it except for something so distant that he couldn't quite place...

Despair.

SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL ******

Out of the corner of his eye he watched the emotions that crossed his brother's face before he closed the door and went off to help their father on the hunt.

He was alone.

And he hadn't let on to either Dean or John how scared that thought made him. Not because he might 'forget' to salt a window at night and have some monster charge in, not because, well, anything like that. But because you could always get away from everyone and everything, but you could never get away from yourself.

You could lock your bedroom or bathroom door and pretend the world didn't exist, try to forget about it and everything on it, but you could never run away from yourself. When you locked that bathroom or bedroom door, you just locked yourself in with a starving wolf. And no matter what you did, there was no escape, and no outs except for one; one that slowly became more sweet like honey the closer it became, and the sweetness of the honey flavor seemed to slowly block out the fact that there were dead bee's littered in it, too.

The hours passed by, blurring with the minutes and the seconds and Sam continued to stare blankly at the wall across from himself. And the longer he stared, the longer he was alone, the harder it was to fight back. He couldn't focus on reality, he felt weak and sick all the time, and he knew that Dean saw the way he looked at food; like it was rotting flesh on a corpse.

Sam lightly jumped off the bed, padding towards a mirror that was across the wall from the other bed, and silently he pulled up a chair. Focus on school. Get grades back up. He had to get his grades back up. That was something to focus on, he thought, as he pulled his books from his backpack and spread them over the desk in front of the mirror.

"Okay." He breathed out and stared down at the algebra, which suddenly seemed much more daunting and dreadful than it ever had before. X's and Y's and numbers and bozes and circles and suddenly his mind drew a blank. Distraught, he slammed the math book closed and with a quaking hand set the pencil beside it. Staring at the mirror, that starving animal stared back. His eyes were dark and sunken, his bones more pronounced, and the longer he stared, the harder he had to fight back tears.

He barely contained himself from smashing the mirror, from ripping apart the schoolbooks, and from tearing the room apart. He slid the chair out away from the desk and speedily spun around, his foot catching on the chair and sending him on the ground on his hands and knees with a thud. Biting his lip he awkwardly pulled himself off the floor, one hand wiped over his face as a tear escaped.

His breath started coming in fast, quick, shallow sounds. A tremendous wave of fear washed over him, his heart started pounding, his chest hurt, and it started getting harder and harder to breath. He cringed as a door slammed shut a ways away, and suddenly every childhood fear started creeping back up on him. The darkness was starting to flood in from the glass door that led to the balcony, the room starting to be engulfed with darkness. And with darkness came fear. And with fear came pain. And with pain came a sense of helplessness. And with a sense of helplessness came… well. One could break it down but never put it quite correctly.

His shoulders shook with noiseless sobs, and he jumpily half-walked, half-crawled back to his backpack, yanking his cell phone out. He, looking in a drunken state, ran across the room and slammed the bathroom door shut behind himself. The sweat was rolling in beads down his face, and his body shaking. He continued trying to bite down the sobs, but the tears still poured down his face. He looked through his contacts, silently crying as his blurry vision set on one name. 'Dean'.

He pushed the open phone against his chest, able to feel his frantic heart through his hands. The sobs were no longer silenced as fear wrapped around his heart like ivory vines covered in thorns.

Dialing the number, he held it up to his ear, praying they weren't hunting the werewolf right then. Silently begging someone would answer. But in a second his brain took over and he flipped the phone shut, pressing his face into his knees and rocking himself back and forth. Pain flared in his chest and he only whimpered quietly. A deep breath that sounded more like a whine, and Sam was flipping the phone back open, with blurry eyes he clicked on his brother's number and went to text.

And stared at the blank message. And stared as the tears cascaded down his cheeks. **How was the hunt?** He finally typed, and his mind told his fingers to press send before his heart said anything. Because what he wanted to say was more along the lines of… **Please help me Dean please save me I'm scared its so dark scared hurts its so hopeless I want to die Dean I'm scared I don't want to die its my only option there's no way out…**

**Bloop.**

**Dad got clawed up pretty good, but d mn, there was this chick… mmm…**

**You're a freak. ** He texted back, his heart aching and hammering and he wanted so badly to just have someone there wanted so badly to talk wanted so badly to be alive wanted so badly to feel wanted to feel wanted, wanted to know he was worth something…

**Bloop.**

**Bet you just b!tch faced the phone screen. Wish I could savor the looks you're getting as you glare moodily at the phone and angrily hit those buttons…**

Dean assumed he was eating at the small cafeteria like thing in the hotel. The thought of food just seemed to make his stomach upset, again.

**Yeah, whatever, you wish.**He texted back. 'Dean please see please see please…' his mind thought, and with it came a mute sob.

**Oh yeah, sure, Sammy. So, I gotta go, but you doing good?**

'No no no I'm not I'm not please come back please come back' and with more silent crying, the tears running down his face, he typed back:

**I'm doing 'Well', Dean. I'm doing 'well', not 'good'.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's this chapter, don't know what I think of it. :P Lol. So there's only one review, thank you so much though person-who-FFN-hates-me-typing-your-name ;)) **

**But I put a lot into this, or I have, and a lot of me has gone into writing Sam. Thank you SO much for the follows and favorites, they mean a lot. But I haven't a lot to go on/off of, don't know what you all want to happen, from hurt/comfort to... anything... and I don't know how I'm doing so far... *Shrugs apprehenciously* **

Sam had heard perhaps the worst news the next morning. There had been more werewolves and John and Dean had to stay another day. Well, John would be staying for longer than that, but Dean was going to be staying for another day.

The fifteen-year-old crossed his arms over each other then let them rest on the railing of the balcony, letting his chin fall on top of them as he stared out at the cars. Just whizzing by. Unaware.

Sam slowly moved back to the schoolbooks that were scattered across the desk, picking up his science and flipping to page 130. He stared at the number, and stared at the number longer, watching the page number like his life depended on it. After a while he tried to take in some of the words, some of the science. But it was jumbled and mute and he couldn't stop thinking about how he felt _heavy._

With a frustrated sound, he looked at his history. It was even worse. Pictures of men holding rifles horseback, pictures of lifeless men scattered on the ground, their bodies littering the muddy, trampled ground. "George Washington died in…" "Abraham Lincoln died in…" "Prince Henry the Navigator died in…"

Biting his lip, he slammed it shut.

His soul felt restless.

Fighting the surges of emotions, he looked at his literature book. 'Miss Hinch's body was surprisingly un-touched after being smashed by a train…' "Maybe it only crushed her soul." Sam said aloud grimly, his voice like razors in a blender.

The teen stared down at the books, his back and shoulders tensed, hands clenched into fists. Slowly he relaxed into the chair, his hands shaking as they unclenched.

Sam stood up, pacing the room. His skin felt itchy, the damp air from the rain that had just started made him feel even more uncomfortable. Scratching distantly at his arms, he moved up to his neck, and his face.

Pacing back to the books, he took one look at them before picking them up, one by one tearing them apart, page-by-page. Crumpling the pages. Tearing apart the algebra. Science. History. Literature. All of them. Report cards. College application papers from his backpack. Shredding them into small pieces.

His eyes were like blunt swords, cutting, sharp, his breathing was rigid and gasping, almost with a clogged sound. Like it was hard to breath. Like he was drowning in blood.

He was drowning in blood, vines were creeping down his throat, choking him, tar was weighing down on him, heavy and thick, ropes snaked around his body, crushing him, breaking his bones, caving him in.

He didn't know what to do.

Something sparked inside his eyes, something close to insanity.

SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL

"You sure you wanna go back now?" John asked his eldest son, still looking over the hunt research. "Yes Sir." Dean replied quickly, staring at John, unknowingly holding his breath.

"Okay." John answered simply, not looking away from what he was doing even then. Dean took that as a yes. "Thanks," he said, grabbing his duffel and heading towards the door. Out of the motel, he hopped into the Impala, cramming his duffel into the empty passenger seat. "Who wants to hunt a heart-eating monster anyway." He mumbled, not hiding the vague disappointment as he started the car's engine.

Christmas was coming back around again, already people were putting up lights and decorations. He had wanted to surprise his brother. When he had informed Sam they would be staying later on the hunt, he hadn't missed the beat of silence before Sam gave a quick, "Okay" reply.

Assuming the storm wouldn't get to bad, and assuming he wouldn't get in a crash, he would get there in around two hours.


	5. Chapter 5

**_So, I'd _Like to request something. When reading this chapter, just think of who Sam is, in the show, in fanfictions, of what's happened in this fic so far, and what he would feel, how in about a chapter(ish?) ago he was mentally screaming for Dean to see. Just try to step in his shoes and imagine, with their life, with Mary dead and John the way he is and Dean trying to just hold it together, hold it all together, and then Sam, well, Sam... And then just what loosing hope feels like. "Hope is really the whole point," was something Sam said in season... one? So just... you know... kind of fill in the blanks. **

**Thanks again for the reviews and stuff!  
**

___Sam was somewhere wet and cold, or more like freezing. He wasn't alone, there was the _kid tied up next to him, but he'd never felt more alone. But at the same time, he still had hope. That bright light. Except something was different this time when the things came back.

_They were grinning like Cheshire cats, and as they separated to the two teens, Sam couldn't help the panic that over came him. "Starting-starting-starting-over… break-break-break-break soul." They both said in sync, eerily._

_Sam grimaced as a scream pierced the air next to him. "West?" he slurred, gagging on blood as he tried to move. His movement stopped when something sharp impaled his chest. With a strangled gasping groan, he stared down at the sharp spiked tail that was through him, blood pooled out of his mouth as he gagged._

_A different cold, a cold like something he hadn't felt before. The pain blurred in and out, then there was just peace. Calm, peace, everything sounded and looked far away. And then just nothing._

Sam stopped and blocked out the horror and shock and confusion of when he woke up again, only running. Running like he had been doing the past hour. Just running, on adrenaline, or stubbornness, or thinking about the depressing thoughts that followed him. It was like he was trying to outrun them, to outrun everything.

Heaving in breaths he fell to his knees, barely getting himself off the ground again. Maybe the next time he fell he wouldn't be able to get back up. That thought drove him harder, his malnourished body screamed in protest, his heart frantically tried to keep up, his mind was in a completely different state, though. Like the world was slowing down, making him slow down, and he could never go fast enough to outrun the exhaustion. Exhaustion of the soul. His physical exhaustion was so distant and far from his mind he couldn't even grasp it, really.

It burned into his heart, the darkness that he feared. He was never free, and he never realized. Though with a sudden realization, it came to him, he'd never heard the word 'love'. At least, it had never been used to him, about him. And he didn't care. Laughing breathlessly, Sam barely wheezed in what felt like fire, laughing maniacally. His heart wasn't cold because it burned. He'd never had a stronger desire to leave the mind.

Taking breaths till nothing was left. That's what he was doing as he ran. His legs burned, his whole body felt tired and cramped, oddly enough. But he couldn't stop, couldn't stop moving. He just ran. He ran, because he didn't want to fall apart. He ran, with a lonely heart. He ran, because he didn't want to live in dark.

Rain cascaded from the clouds in the nighttime sky, the only lights he could see were artificial. The lone figure kept moving through the cold, wet night, in jerky movements, shaking, trembling, chest heaving in small, shaky breaths, eyes barely staying open.

And there the figure stumbled sideways, swaying, then collapsed. Right outside the hotel, in a soaking heap.

SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL

Dean had been surprised to say the least when he almost ran over what looked like a lump in the parking lot. Even more shocked when he rolled it over and found Sam's face staring back at him.

After carrying him inside, and into the hotel room, ignoring all the odd looks he got, and after depositing him on the bed, he couldn't deny his confusion, shock, and bordering-on-horror as he tried to get Sam awake and warmed up again.

When he succeeded, he was just met with hollow hazel eyes. Hazel eyes that used to hold so much emotion, emotion of a bright, un-scratched soul that could start a chick flick moment out of spilled milk. He was really missing that brother. "Sammy? What the h#ll were you doing?" he said, anger supposed to cover the other emotions, but failing miserably. "Running." Sam said almost nonchalantly, as he shrugged and rolled over on the bed away from Dean.

"No. No! Look at me!" Dean said, moving to the other side and kneeling beside the bed, desperately searching his brother's expression as he held his face between his hands. "Just talk to me, Man. I don't know how to help you if I don't know what I'm dealing with, right? Right? C'mon. Just talk to me."

There was a beat of silence when a thousand emotions crossed Sam's facial features, a thousand unspoken words, plea's, pain, fear, then it all drowned out, replaced by a hopeless, empty shell of a teen.

"No."


	6. Chapter 6

**Well, hey again. Thank you Carolinagirl for the muse, reviews, and idea's! ;) Don't know what I'm gonna do with this chapter, so, I'm just gonna write! Haha! HERE goes nothing! And because I've come to believe listening to what the writer was listening to when they wrote it connects the reader, when I wrote this chapter, I was listening to: Swimming Home, Evanescence. Trigger warning: this story**

_No. _The word had just exploded in Dean's mind. _No. _What the h#ll...? The next day and a half had been... well, Dean' didn't know what. Because he'd never had something like this happen. It had been raining, and with thunder that literally shook the entire hotel, and at night lightening flared from the sky and lit up the room. Sam hadn't said a word. He had been leaving, but Dean, having raised the kid, knew he wasn't going to school. That much was obvious, from the little bits and pieces of schoolbooks that Sam had crammed in the trash.

And he didn't know what to do. Because Sam had nearly gotten pneumonia two nights ago, and now he was gone again. Dean had taken a shower, and when he'd come out, there was a note on the desk saying, 'You don't have to pick me up, I'll take the bus.' But he wasn't at school. So where was he? But the Taurus was gone, and so was Sam's backpack, so, he didn't know if that was good and he had a way to protect himself, or, or..._  
_

Derailing that train of thought, he moved on. He had called John after Sam's '_no', _and the only 'help' he'd gotten was John saying it was just Sam being an angsty teenager, as he had put it, word-for-word. But it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. But John didn't. Because Sam and Dean had only told John basics of what had happened in the Realm, and Sam had only told him to 'leave it alone' when he had asked the week after. And he hadn't brought it up again. But now he realized he should have.

And it was too d*mn late.

So he sat on the end of the bed, and swore to himself, if Sam didn't get back within an hour, he would find him. One way or another, he would get his brother back. In both sense's of the term.

SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL

Sam rocked backwards until he was leaning against the wall. He had found an old, abandoned building not to far from the hotel, and one of the windows had been broken. So it hadn't been breaking, just entering. Besides, it wasn't like his family never did anything illegal. In fact, his whole life they'd done nothing but.

Sam watched birds squawk and flap out the window as a rat ran across a beam next to them, and flew out into the light rain. They were running away from something too.

"I ran too." he whispered, the spark in his eye still resembled insanity. "I don't want Dean to keep looking at me like that. Don't want him to keep trying to TALK. I mean, what the h#ll's with that anyway. Our family doesn't talk. It's like the unspoken rule. I mean," Sam gave a dry laugh that sounded somewhat deranged, "No problem is as big as hunting the demon, right? I thought I wanted someone to see. But I was wrong. I don't. I don't. I don't. It's just stupid, and, and it's in the past, so-so..." Sam's voice got more emotion clogged as he spoke, and quieter. He'd just convince himself, and- and nothing.

Noises slowed and started to drown out, his own heartbeat loud and fast in his ears, blood raging and pouring and it sounded to rhythmic...

Riffling through his backpack, he grabbed his pocket knife with shaky hands, fumbling to flip it open. He slid it across his hand, blood pooling from the fresh cut. And with stinging pain came relief, bitter relief. He had taken the first bite of that honey. His heart was still pounding, but it felt lighter. He felt a little bit lighter. His conscience was screaming at him, twisting inside like a knife, piling guilt on him, telling him he was weak. Or at least, that's how he interpreted it.

But it had just felt so good.

And he feared it.

But that didn't stop him from doing it again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay for this chapter, I was listening to: What I've Done, Linkin Park cover by ApathetiOnion. And Daughter of The Moon, by Adrisaurus. AND WANDERER'S LULLABY by the same person LOVE that song, LOVE THOSE songs I should say but please listen to them! **

**ANND BTW: IF YOU DIDN'T READ A CHAPTER ON AUG 29TH, you might wanna go back before reading this! LOL! Twice in one day! **

**Also, RPed out the ending with VanillaJ1967! Thank yooouuu my friend!**

Dean hadn't waited longer than twenty minutes before he had started searching. He knew that kid like the back of his hand, he'd find him, that he had been sure of. And he hadn't been wrong. About half an hour after he left the hotel room, he'd found an old, abandoned building that looked like something Sam would have settled for. Plus, there was a broken window, therefore, since it had been broken from the inside, Sam hadn't technically 'broken and entered'. All he'd done was enter.

Even though he'd prepared himself for the worst, he hadn't prepared himself for this, he thought as he came into the large, mostly empty, once-living room. Mostly empty. Because his brother was in the shadows, making tiny gasping, crying sounds, and he was covered in his own blood, staring down in horror at his knife in his hand.

"Sammy… wh…what did you do?" Dean whispered, horrified. Sam shied away from the voice, weakly throwing the knife away from himself and leaning farther away from it. The younger brother pushed himself into the corner, curling up almost cat-like. "Sam? Talk to me, d mnit!" he snapped, moving forward and getting closer to the ground as he walked. He put a shaky hand on his brother's shoulder, swallowing heavily as he saw the cuts forming on his arms. "Don't touch me!" Sam gasped quietly, flapping an arm uselessly to get him away.

Frantic, Dean tried to get a closer look at the wounds. "Lemme stop the bleeding, okay?" he said, or asked, desperately. "It already stopped." Sam replied miserably. Dean had never felt so helpless.

Inwardly grimacing as he had to roughly get Sam to look at him, he searched his blood stained face. "You're going to listen to me this time, okay?" he said, in a gruff, chiding, scolding, angry and determined voice and grimaced again as Sam cringed and shrank back into the corner. Gripping his brother's arms tighter, he gave him a small shake to get his eyes back meeting his own.

"Don't give me a d mn 'no', don't lie to me, don't try to HIDE from me or anything FROM me. Because I don't know what's going on in that freaky head of yours, but its gotta stop!" Dean said sternly, trying to ignore the misting in his own eyes. "You're killing me, man." he croaked out as a side note, emotions trying to push their way into his words.

Sam had a hitched breath, trying to rein in his emotions. He noticed. He knew. He saw. He may not have known the silent screams, maybe not the plea's, but he saw, and he noticed, and he cared, and... maybe there was a way out. Maybe there was a light.

he looked down at the cuts littering his arms, tears filling his eyes, tears he desperately tried to fight. "I'm sorry, Dean." he said, guilt and shame and EMOTION riding his voice. He'd failed Dean. And now he had to try for him. To fight for him. To live for him.

Pulling his arms up to his chest, he rocked back and forth, tears dripping down his face and mingling with the crimson, despair, pain, emotion, regret, all just poured off of him, rolled off of him in waves.

Dean rocked back to the heels of his boots, and ran both hands through his hair. He took a deep breath and nodded slightly. This was a step in the right direction. It was better than Sam's blunt 'no' from before.

"'S'okay, Sammy. Just talk to me. I didn't know..." he paused, running one hand over his face and looking intently at Sam again. "I didn't know it was this bad. You can't let this happen, Sammy." he said. Of course, he blamed himself for not seeing it sooner. He'd known something was off with his baby brother, but he hadn't guessed that Sam had been that far gone. What was worse, was that he felt he could have stopped all of this, if he had just made Sam talk to him earlier... if he had just LISTENED before.

"I know I wasn't there before, but now I am... MK? I'm right here, and I'm listening. So..." he stopped and gripped Sam's shoulder's firmly, then made eye contact with him. Things would NEVER get this far again. As much as he hated to admit it; it would be a long time before he would let Sam get out of his sight again. Being the big brother meant taking care of Sam; he'd almost failed, and as much as he hated to admit it, that terrified him.

Sam stifled an odd squeaking sound. Hesitantly, slowly, almost painfully, he leaned forward, until his head was resting against Dean's chest, his arms still cradled to his own as he stopped rocking, instead just sitting on top of his legs in a slumped over, vulnerable position.

"I'm sorry." he repeated, nearly breathed out. He could see the disappointment, picture it perfectly from memory and imagination, see it written on John's face as he silently stared at Sam, and it was worse than when he yelled. Even worse he could imagine that same expression, on Dean's face. But it hadn't been there. It hadn't been there.

He was almost hovering hesitantly, his head lightly resting against Dean until that earlier thought hit him. Slowly he leaned farther against him.

A broken plea, trusting, scared. "save me."

Dean usually hated chick-flick moments, but h3ll, his little brother was practically sitting in a pool of his own blood. Once wouldn't kill them. He wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him up, away from the bloody corner of the room, to an ancient couch that had been left with the house.

He settled Sam down on it and shifted slightly so that he could take of his jacket. Once he'd accomplished this, he wrapped it around Sam, and then pulled his kid brother closer to himself again.

"I've got you, Sammy. I always do." he said quietly.

Sam pushed his face gently into Dean's shoulder, trying to collect himself as they sat in the quiet, old, creaky house, the rain lightly pouring outside. "D'n..." his voice was hoarse and hushed, and he swallowed loudly, taking in a deep breath that cut off into a shudder.

"I remember," Sam was cut off by a half-sob that sounded close to a laugh, "Dying," he stopped again, fearful amusement playing in his voice, "B-but the worst part was waking up again. Because whether or not I knew what happened... I... Knew..." he paused for another odd sound. "And I couldn't... couldn't remember... it was all slipping away... and... I was," scared horrified terrified paralyzed petrefied. He moved on from that. "Breaking." he confessed, the last word came out strained and more of a sob that sounded like a word. "And I knew, I-I KNEW you'd come... but Dad, I've never b-been more scared in my life... it was worse than dying."

Dean listened silently, as Sam talked about what had happened in the other realm. He shuddered inwardly, remembering the state Sam had been in. He hoped those sons of b!tches were rotting wherever they were, for what they'd done to his brother. The more Dean thought about it, it was horrifying to hear Sam sound so young, and so, SO scared.

He was so focused on what Sam was saying... what he was REMEMBERING, that he almost missed it; Sam's last sentence. 'I-I KNEW you'd come... but Dad, I've never b-been more scared in my life... it was worse than dying.' Dean's eyes widened slightly, and he opened his mouth to reply, then quickly closed it. Sam called HIM 'Dad.' He felt slightly shocked. In a way, he figured it was kinda true. He'd raised Sam since the kid had been six months old.

And D mn he was proud of the kid he'd raised. HIS Sam. Little Sammy, who grew up without a mother, never knew what it was like to have a home, and only ever wanted to just be NORMAL... but no matter what, Sam always TRIED. He did his best. Dean had never thought about how HARD it must have been. Now he was, and he would never make that mistake again.

He smiled slightly, and kept silent about Sam's mistake... because truly, it hadn't been a mistake. It was simply the truth. Sure, John was their father, and kept them save; trained them, took care of them as best he could... and Dean respected him for that; but he had raised Sam. No one could argue with that.

"I'll always come for you, Sammy. I promise you that."

Sam nodded jerkily, ignoring the pain spiking from his sliced arms as he still held them closer to himself. Quaking, it almost covered up the jolt of a silent sob. He took steadying breaths.

"Hey D-dean?" he mumbled, tears in his voice, as they still were rolling down his cheeks from bright eyes. "They're bleeding again." he finished, letting out a laugh, and suddenly he couldn't stop laughing. It was either that or he was going to turn into a blubbering mess. He looked down at the cuts as he moved his arms slightly away from himself, than moved back into the same position as before. He was still laughing, and it was making the tears come even faster.

Dean muttered a curse, and pulled Sam's arms forward a bit so that he could see them.

"Sh!t."

It wasn't as bad as it could be, but still... Looking at Sam's bleeding arms was still unpleasant. He'd have to clean the wounds. A few of the deeper cuts would need stitches, then he could just bandage it. The medical kit was in the Impala, and there was another one back at the motel.

He'd just call John... No. He didn't need to call him.

"Okay, Samsquatch, lets get you back to the motel. C'mon..." he said, standing up and helping Sam up as well. He pulled off his plaid shirt, leaving him with only his t-shirt. He muttered complaints under his breath as he tore the plaid shirt, and wrapped Sam's arms in the cloth. "You owe me a new shirt Sam." he teased, gently jabbing Sam in the ribs and smiling ever-so-slightly.

Sam smiled slightly. Just slightly. But it was the first real smile in four months... 122 days, 17 weeks (plus 3 days), 2928 hours, and 10 million five hundred and forty thousand eight hundred seconds. Give or take.

**That COULD be the end, unless someone sugests, or asks for a bonus chapter... Anyways, I'm proud of this chapter! **


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